Knight Valiant
by SAERider
Summary: They trained together, went out whole into the world. Came back broken in different ways, and patched each other up. Were sent together to Kirkwall to report on Meredith, who was slightly unhinged and the Qunari invaded. Now he's the Commander of what might become the second Inquisition. She might have blown up the Conclave and the Divine. Oh, and she's his wife. No actual sex yet
1. Chapter 1

The Conclave _destroyed_ , the Divine _dead_ ; and amidst the ruins, a single survivor. It was a less than auspicious start to his new career. Cullen sighed; the Spymaster and Seeker had gone to check on the survivor, leaving him to deal with restoring order to the chaos.

"Commander!" a soldier slammed through the makeshift command post he had established. "Ser, demons are appearing everywhere Ser! What shall we do?"

With a curse Cullen rushed out, grabbing his shield and helm. Outside, the situation was deteriorating with each passing moment. Demons of all kinds poured through the rift, laying waste to his ill-prepared troops. The Spymaster arrived at last, bearing news of the prisoner's awakening and subsequent decision to take the mountain path to the breach. He didn't think letting the prisoner take an active leadership role was a very wise idea, but the deed was done. Now it was up to the remainder of his troops to hold back the horde until the breach was sealed. Assuming the prisoner actually intended to seal the breach.

The breach crackled above the ruins, the demons shrieked with furious triumph as more of their brethren were summoned from bubbling black pits that littered the ground. Cullen knew that even the Templars among his troops were wearing thin. A sudden burst of light from the breach seemed to stun the demons, giving the soldiers a few precious moments to catch their breath. All at once the breach exploded, a cheer rose from the troops as some demons were killed instantly, and the rest quickly dispatched with swords. The surviving men and women turned their eyes to the sky; it still swirled green and seethed with magic, but the air was silent, as though all of nature were waiting in fearful silence. Whatever the prisoner had done, it had temporarily patched the breach. Cullen sent up a small prayer of thanks, then cast his eye to the wounded and dead.

It was hours before all the wounded, dying, and dead were transported back to Haven. One of the Spymaster's birds had arrived earlier with a brief message stating that the prisoner was unconscious but alive and was resting in one of the cabins under guard. While it was a relief to know that a solution to their problems had been found, it rankled the Commander to know that many men and women had died based on a decision made by a possible mass murderer whose very identity was in question. He sighed, the pounding in his head exacerbated by the ache of his body. Unlikely as it was, one could only hope there would be a hot bath waiting for him back in Haven, but it was likely any hot water would be used to tend to the wounded. He would settle for a basin of clean water and a washcloth. Perhaps a cold sandwich and a bowl of hot soup could be found. These thoughts kept him on his feet as he trudged back with the remaining able-bodied troops.

The days passed, and the prisoner remained unconscious. The Elven hedge mage informed them that she was in no danger; with the breach patched, the mark on her palm was no longer a serious danger to her. All that remained was for her to wake, and she would do that in her own good time. Josephine had not been pleased to hear that; a solution to the rifts would give them considerable more legitimacy and political clout. The longer their solution remained unconscious, the sooner their already delicate political situation would deteriorate. At best she could seal the various rifts popping up across Thedas, at worst they could hand her over for judgement. But the Seeker was convinced the woman was innocent, a view the Spymaster cautiously agreed with, much to the others' surprise.

Three days after closing the breach, the Council gathered to discuss the possibilities should the prisoner not wake. The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a breathless servant, informing them that the prisoner was awake and on the way with Seeker Cassandra.

Heavy footfalls approached, the Seeker's was easily recognizable, but the other pair…Cullen recognized those too, somehow. One of his officers perhaps? But, surely the Seeker was more than enough to handle the prisoner. No matter, they could be dismissed once the Seeker and prisoner were in the room.

"Good, you are all here," the Seeker said briskly, settling eyes on each of the three. "I would like to introduce you to…"

"Trysraine?" Cullen exclaimed. "Is this a joke? Because it is in extremely poor taste!" he snarled at the four women.

"It's not a joke Cullen, I am the survivor of the Conclave," said the woman quietly.

An awkward silence fell upon the room while the two stared at each other. The Commander scowled so blackly that Josephine wondered if lightning would start sparking somewhere.

"If we could get started with the," said the Ambassador, breaking awkward the silence.

"What were you doing there?" interrupted the Commander.

"Representing House Trevelyan," was the short reply.

The Ambassador opened her mouth to speak once again.

"What about," Cullen began, ignoring her.

"Maker's sake Rutherford, if you so much as suggest that I would bring a child…"

"You are here! After I expressly instructed you to stay with your family!"

"Don't you dare take that tone with me! You ran off from Kirkwall without so much as a note! I found out from the new Knight Captain, who by the way, informed me that Ser Rutherford had run of with a Seeker and might I cease sending personal messages to the Knight Captain! You didn't even have the gall to write me!"

"I didn't have time!"

"For a whole bloody year?"

The two were now face to face, furious lions at each other's throats.

"Perhaps," the Spymaster said with quiet amusement. "We should give them their privacy. They seem to have much to discuss."

The three women left, leaving the angry Commander to face off with the equally angry Prisoner, oblivious to their departure.

"Would one note have hurt?" she asked softly, breaking the silence between them.

He deflated at that, the anger and surprise leaving him, the weariness of the past few days flooding back. "No," he replied equally softly. Somehow her hands had found his face, and his her waist.

"I didn't forget," he whispered. "I've thought of you everyday, missed you more everyday."

His hands slid upwards, spreading across her back to pull her against him. Her arms slid around his neck, fingers reaching and burying themselves in his hair as their lips met. He pushed her back against the table, helping her settle atop it, as they continued their hungry kiss. She moaned against him as his wandering hands left burning trails across her clothed skin. He stood between her parted legs, grinding his hips against hers. Suddenly recalling their audience Cullen jerked back to look around the empty room in confusion. She laughed at that, pulling him back against her once again.

"When did they leave?" he mumbled against her lips.

"I don't recall. Does this mean we can continue?"

"I ah," he mixed a cough and a laugh. "I don't think that would be wise."

"Agreed," said a dry voice from the doorway.

They jumped apart like guilty children.

"If you are quite finished," the Seeker began.

"And if we're not?" the woman interrupted with a humorless smile and a firm grip on the Commander, still between her legs.

The Seeker frowned at the interruption. Fixing her steely gaze upon her former charge, and meeting an equally steely gaze. Cassandra humphed, slightly impressed. The other two women returned to take their original places.

Trysraine sighed and released her husband who quickly moved around the table, giving her the room to slide off the table and straighten her clothes.

"I am Trysraine Trevelyan, third child and eldest daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. Knight Commander of the Twelfth Legion," she said without preamble.

Cullen opened his mouth in surprise, but before he could speak. "And your connection to Ser Cullen?" Leliana asked lightly.

"You're the spymaster, I'm certain you know everything there is to be known about our connection," Trysraine said shortly.

"As eloquent as you are," Leliana muttered to Cullen.

Josephine scribbled madly, pausing midway, "I'm sorry did you say Knight Commander? To which Grand Cleric do you answer to?"

"None. I answer to the Knights Vigilant, or the Divine herself," Trysraine let that hang in the air for a few moments. "I understand none of them survived the Conclave."

"What were your orders for this situation?" Cassandra asked.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you that."

"Cannot or will not?" said Leliana crossing her arms.

"Both."

XXxxXXxxXX

Look at that insanely creative title! Isn't it the most amazing title you've ever seen? No? What do you mean no?!

Joking aside, I really haven't come up with a better title. So if you think you can do better, by all means, help me!  
This is what I've been working on for months, and when I say months, I mean its been sitting more or less as it is (I changed a few things) since December, while I stew over it. I've taken a great many liberties (that you don't yet know about) with some parts of the history of Thedas, but I really like the way this story is shaping up. Chapter two is in the works, but I thought before I get cold feet (fingers, inspiration, computer crash? take your pick I got lots) I should post the first chapter here.

I've not abandoned "With Neighbors Like These" but am working to revamp the story as I have a better idea of where I want to go with it. I hope to have the first reworked chapter of that finished by next week. I'll probably change the title of the existing bunch, but they'll stay up. Unless of course I have to get rid of them to take back the title. In which case I'll take them down and then put them back up under a new title. Bwahahahaha!

I'm in the final semester of my university career, its a mess, I'm a mess, and I desperately want to start writing again. So I have.


	2. Chapter 2

"Both."

At their surprised looks she continued, "I have no reason to trust any of you. When both the Right and Left hands of the Divine live while she perishes, it lends a foul feel to the heart."

"What are you insinuating?" growled Cassandra.

"That either you are responsible, extraordinarily incompetent, or very very lucky," snarled Trysraine, matching Cassandra's attitude. "And I don't believe in luck." Turning to gaze at Leliana, "But, as I said earlier, you're the spymaster. I'm certain _you_ can enlighten the Seeker."

All eyes turned to the spymaster.

Leliana's lips thinned for a moment. "Knight Captain Trysraine Trevelyan, promoted to Knight Commander. Await orders, begin recruitment should conclave fail, prepare for Exalted March."

"Maker's breath," breathed Cullen. "When were you going to tell me."

"Well, ideally the orders would have come through you, but you were off playing guard dog," said Trysraine, irritably rubbing her temples.

"Enough, you two may discuss that later.," interjected the Seeker. "For now, Commander, what do you remember of the events leading up to the destruction of the conclave?"

Cullen blinked in confusion before realizing the Seeker was not addressing him.

"Nothing," Trysraine said flatly.

"Is this another of your attempts at secrecy?" Leliana asked sarcastically.

"Hardly Lady Nightingale. I simply speak the truth. I recall nothing of the day's events," the young woman's voice dropped away.

"Are you certain you've tried hard enough?" Leliana's voice was like ice.

"Well, to be honest Spymistress, between apparently walking out of the fade, being unconscious for three days, waking to an irate seeker, traversing through the mountain pass, fighting demons left and right, closing a tear in the veil, falling unconscious once more. No, I really can't say I've found the time to try and think harder," Trysraine snapped.

An awkward silence descended, thickening the tension in the room.

"You are right," Cassandra said quietly, "forgive us, it has been trying for us all."

"You are taking her side?" Leliana was incredulous.

"I am taking no one's side. It is not uncommon for some memory loss following trauma. We should allow her some rest before we begin questioning her. I suggest we rest for the day, and begin our deliberations again tomorrow." Cassandra smirked suddenly, "and perhaps give the Commanders a chance to get reacquainted."

"Yes, I would appreciate that," agreed Cullen.

"Indeed," whispered Leliana to Josephine.

Cullen looked up from the map in confusion at their knowing looks "That's not… I mean, Maker…" Cullen blushed and spluttered at the tittering ladies.

Trysraine sighed through her nose, "Yes, I would appreciate some time to myself and my husband."

"Then it is decided," Cassandra concluded briskly and left.

Trysraine and Cullen nodded at the other two women as they too departed. A silence yawned between them, broken only by the creaking and click of the closing door. Both stared idly at the map between them. She mapped in her head the many paths she had taken through Thedas, while he focused on specific points and places. That was how it had been for so long, she would leave while he would stay, but after Kirkwall, their elopement, her pregnancy and confinement, his resignation and reappointment, everything had been turned on it's head.

"How did we get here?" Cullen asked quietly.

She gave a soft snort, "Well, if you believe the Chantry ideology, the Maker set us on this path and it was inevitable."

"And if I don't?"

"Then we're all screwed, because somehow shit keeps getting worse and even the Maker doesn't know what's going on."

Cullen looked up at that, the Trevelyans were renowned for their steadfast faith in the Maker. But right now, Trysraine looked tired, defeated. Even during his weakest moments under Meredith, when he had slipped from the path and she feared he was losing himself, she had never looked like this. He walked around the table, and pulled her into a tight embrace. In response she grabbed hold of his shoulders, and for a long while they stood together in silence.

At last she pulled away, eyes downcast. Cullen reached out in attempt to raise her gaze to meet his, but she purposefully moved away to a nearby bookshelf, she she pretended to peruse the titles. "You must decide the image we are to present to your troops," she said in the quiet.

Cullen thought about it. It would not be good for his image if it looked as though he were consorting with the only suspect to the destruction of the conclave. _But, she was his wife_. In addition, her reputation was divided, was she in fact the enemy to be blamed, or the Herald of Andraste as he had begun hearing around camp. _That did not change the fact that she was still his wife_. She was a Templar, that would mitigate some of the negativity surrounding her, but not much thanks to the marauding faction that had splintered off. Worse still, if it were known that she was his wife, there would undoubtedly be accusations of favoritism regarding her treatment should she remain accused.

A sudden chill ran down his spine, _Varric_. The Dwarf knew her, but he wasn't the only one. Several of his Templars had followed him from Kirkwall, a great many of them knew her as well. _But no one knew of the elopement_. No one save the chantry mother they had convinced to join them. So her reputation as a Templar would by now be well known among the people. Roderick would likely make an attempt to turn it against her, but the Trevelyan name retained weight and would protect her for a while. But, beyond the other women that had been gathered in this room, for Trysraine's sake and their child, not a soul more could know about their marriage.

Cullen turned to her, she was now idling with the pewter markers and didn't look at him, her officer's face had set in. He realized she had already come to the same conclusion and with a heavy sigh he nodded. The Commanders exited the small chantry. Wordlessly they made their way to the training grounds, where arms crossed they stood in identical poses, frowning at the training men and women.

One of the overseeing officers turned to see the Commanders, a look of surprise passed quickly over his face before he made his way towards them.

"I dinae expect to see ye here in the open lass."

Trysraine smiled warmly at the man, "Rylen! I might have known Rutherford would convince you to join him."

A quick look of understanding passed between the three before Rylen answered, "Aye lass, t'weren't a hard sell though."

Trysraine expression grew sad, "I understand, we are all the poorer for your departure."

Rylen gave a rueful laugh, "I much doubt that lass."

It did not escape their notice that the sounds of mock battle had lessened, nor the increased volume of whispers.

A deep chuckle from behind drew their attention.

"Well, I gotta say Chanter, I was surprised to see _you_ with the Seeker. First you were the mad heretic that blew up the Conclave, now they're telling me you've been promoted to the Herald of Andraste, " Varric grinned, "though, I can't say I'm surprised."


	3. Chapter 3

"Though, I can't say I _am_ surprised."

"Master Tethras," Trysraine greeted the dwarf with Templar cordiality.

"Chanter, you wound me; you know it's just Varric," he said with a roguish grin.

Trysraine chuckled, "Very well _Varric_."

"No request that I call you by name? Curly's been trying to get me to call him by his for years."

"Rutherford can be stubborn," Trysraine agreed, "but no, Chanter will be fine. I think many would not agree, but to be gifted a name by Master Varric Tethras is a privilege indeed," said the Templar with a deep theatrical bow.

Cullen gave a snort, "don't encourage him," he grumbled.

Varric ignored him, "flatterer; but while we're on the subject, where'd you disappear to after Kirkwall? I mean you were there, and then you weren't, Curly says someone up top reassigned you, but I saw you in the aftermath. What's the real story?"

"The real story is long and for another day I'm afraid," Trysraine said relaxing in much the same posture as Cullen.

Varric sighed, "Templars."

"We are annoying," Trysraine agreed somewhat smugly.

"Commander," Cassandra bellowed as she stomped through Haven from the Chantry.

Varric did not miss how both Chanter and Curly turned towards the Seeker's voice, shoulders straight, expressions guarded while alert.

"Commander," Cassandra huffed towards Trysraine, "you should be resting," she said with disapproval. "And you," she turned towards Cullen, "you should be making sure of it."

"I requested Commander Rutherford for a tour of Haven, I did not think I would rest well without knowing about my immediate surroundings." Trysraine said before Cassandra could continue further.

Cassandra hesitated for a moment before nodding, " I suppose that is wise. But now, you rest. Tomorrow we must determine our next step."

"Very well," Trysraine agreed, "perhaps Seeker, you might see me to my cabin. There is something I wish to discuss."

With a nod to her companions, Trysraine set off with the Seeker towards her cabin.

Once inside the cabin, Cassandra turned to the younger woman.

"What is it you wish to discuss?"

Trysraine let the silence linger for a moment before speaking, "I would appreciate, if you did not mention the connection between Commander and I."

"You wish to keep your marriage a secret?"

"For now, we feel it to be the wisest course of action."

"There will be talk later, anger even."

"There is always talk and anger, but if I can establish my reputation, my credibility, it will be harder for 'talk' to prevail, and easier for anger to be forgotten."

"There is sense in what you say. But I question the value of this course, will it not bring greater harm than its defence?"

"I suppose only time will tell."

"After the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall, you sent the body of one Templar back to your home city Ostwick. You even had him buried on your family land. What was he to you?"

"None of your business."

"I was merely trying to…"

"You are Orlesian, and merely playing the Game."

"You really don't like me do you?"

"I do hope that's not the extent of your observational powers."

Cassandra frustratedly rubbed her temples, Leliana and Trysraine had been at odds from the start of the meeting.

"Maker, Leliana, this is not productive," groaned Cullen.

"It is crucial that we can account for all her activities if we are to defend her from the Chantry," insisted the Nightingale.

"Surely there are more pressing matters we can discuss?" Josephine hovered anxiously around the Nightingale and Heretic Commander.

"More pressing than a possible scandal? Those left of the Clerics, Roderick, will not hesitate to use this against us; against her."

"And pray, how will telling you mitigate any type of fallout?" Trysraine sneered.

Leliana bristled, but was cut off by Cullen.

"By the Void, Tris!"

"The Nightingale clearly knows the answers to her questions, yet attempts to bait me, this is not about scandals, nor the past. I refuse to play this game," Trysraine said calmly.

Cassandra sighed, "perhaps, we should take a break. Let us return when we have cooled down, and are ready to discuss pertinent information," she flashed Leliana a look, "and are ready to get along," she finished with a glare towards Trysraine.

Trysraine gave a brusque nod and left, anger and irritation rolling off her.

"Will you not go after her?" Cassandra asked Cullen.

"Certainly, if I were suicidal," Cullen grouched, turning sourly to Leliana, "you shouldn't have brought up the boy."

"Who exactly is this boy? Josephine piped up.

"A Templar she mentored for several years prior to Kirkwall, he died there. Cut down by the Qunari."

"And she had him buried on her family's land? Leliana is correct, there is information enough to damage our credibility."

"The boy was an orphan from Ostwick, he would have been buried in some corner of a local chantry, forgotten. She thought of him as a little brother, wanted him to be remembered, if by no one then by the Trevelyans." Cullen sighed.

A knock on the door attracted their attention. "Erm… Ser? Quartermaster Threnn wants to know if the Prisoner, I-I mean, the Herald? Well, um, if she can get some armor and weapons. B-because she's, she's getting them anyway," stuttered a very nervous messenger.

"Maker," Cullen huffed as he quickly exited the war room.

XXxxXXxxXX

Sorry about the late post, a very good friend of mine died while I was working on this chapter. I posted it on AO3 but forgot about this site.


	4. Chapter 4

"Maker," Cullen huffed as he quickly exited the war room.

Threnn the Quartermaster shrugged helplessly at him as he hurried towards the Templar barracks. There Rylen rather annoyingly mimicked Threnn's shrug before gesturing towards the rough structure they were calling the sparring ring. Trysraine stood just outside it, tugging on the straps to her gauntlets. She looked amazing, the snow drifted down in lazy motes around her settling into her bound dark hair. The sun glinting, weak as it was, off her undoubtedly borrowed armor. His eyes finally settled on the greatsword resting against the rough wooden fence.

"You let her have a weapon?" Cullen growled to Rylen.

"Last time I said no tae what she wanted, she handed me my arse in front o'my troops. I'll no be doin' that again," Rylen said cheerfully.

"Rutherford," Trysraine called to him with a dangerous glint in her eye. "Care for a rematch? I believe our last session ended with a tie."

Cullen recalled their last match did indeed end with a tie, of a different sort. _Several sorts actually_ , his brain unhelpfully reminded him while redirecting blood to certain parts of his anatomy. He cleared his throat a little louder than was necessary, watching her lips twitch in amusement. _Maker, she's beautiful, and I can't tell anyone she's mine_ , he thought unhappily, wondering if her body had grown softer in the months she had spent out of the field, carrying their child. _Focus Rutherford_ , another part of him reminded of their surroundings.

"I believe it did," Cullen replied at last. "As I recall, you employed underhanded techniques to gain the upper hand."

"And as I recall, you did much the same, thereby resulting in said tie."

 _True, but w're not talking about the blow to my ribs while they were still recovering_. Cullen willed her to hear his thoughts, she probably knew what he was thinking anyway. She always did. It was why Knight Vigilant Gunnard had transferred them together to Kirkwall. _Not a good idea_ , his brain screamed at him as he thoughtfully fingered the pommel of his blade.

"A quick match then," Cullen called, loud enough for Rylen and the men to hear.

"Prepare to fall, old man," she growled in that low voice that always promised wonderful things as she swung herself over the fence into the ring

"I'm thirty-four," he growled back in annoyance at the old moniker as several people snickered, ducking between the upper and lower bars of the ring.

"Mmm-hmm," she agreed, "it shows."

The growing crowd gave a collective 'ooh'.

 _She's riling you up_ , he reminded himself letting the insult slide over him. He reached deep into the well inside him, pulling on the focus that had kept him alive during the madness of Kirkwall, the insanity of Kinloch. He saw her smile, but it wasn't one of confidence. It was one of pride, there was a deeper meaning to it. One he couldn't quite figure out, as she was charging him.

"They're amazing," breathed a recruit, starting wide eyed as the Commander faced off with the Herald/Prisoner.

The Templars present watched with experienced eyes, and noted that while both combatants belonged to the warrior class, there was something inherently different about the Prisoner's style. She was also holding back, Rylen noted silently.

Rather abruptly, the Commander slammed into the Prisoner, who by some feat managed to bring him down on top of her. The point of the Commander's blade dug into the ground, it's blade angled inches away from her throat.

"I win this round I think, Trevelyan," Cullen huffed with exertion. The awkward angling of the blade requiring some twisting of his sword arm, while the other supported his weight.

"I yield," Trysraine said loudly, causing a round of cheers to go up from the recruits. But a smirk had him glancing down quickly to his abdomen. The awkward angle of his body hid from his men the small but effective blade pointed directly at his heart. With both his arms trapped, he was a sitting duck.

"You've gotten rusty, _old man_ ," she whispered up at him.

"You're a horrible tease," he muttered back, pushing himself up. "You could've killed yourself with the stunt you just pulled."

"Worth the view," she winked.

 _Is she flirting with me? After we agreed not to put our relationship in public?_ Cullen wondered as they exited the ring. The crowd had mostly dispersed as Rylen approached them. Once he was certain nobody was listening, his face broke into the largest shit-eating grin Cullen had ever seen the man wear.

"She got the drop on ye," he said almost gleefully, Cullen groaned at him. "Not tae worry, I dinnae think anyone but the Templars noticed."

"Thanks," Cullen said sarcastically.

"And now they know she's no to be messed with. Smart of ye lass."

"How much do you think they've figured out?" Trysraine asked.

"Enough to know y'aren't a regular Templar. How much more'll depend on their own experience, but I'd guess at least one or two'll have made the connection," Rylen paused, "But lass, if ye were hopen tae keep yer relationship a secret, I'd no be pulling stunts like _that_ again,"

Trysraine chuckled, "Noted, but I recognized a few Templars from before Kirkwall among your numbers here. If Rutherford and I are to keep up the charade of being just friends, we'll need to behave as though there were only sparks between us. It'll be just like old times," she winked at Cullen before continuing louder, "Now then Rutherford, how about you and I grab supper at my cabin and you tell me what happened to you since you left the order? I'll grab dinner, you grab ale, it'll be _just like old times_ ," she clapped him on the back before moving in the direction of her cabin. "Oh, and if you don't mind Rylen, I'll be keeping the armor and sword. These fit just right."

"Don't think I could stop ye if I tried," Rylen said with a mock bow.

"Good man. Rutherford, supper in an hour, my place, don't forget the ale," and with that Trysraine tromped off towards her cabin.

"Maker's breath, what have I gotten myself into now," Cullen grumbled, staring after her.

Rylen gave him a commiserative pat on the shoulder before heading back to the training field.


	5. Chapter 5

At a quarter to eight, Cullen stepped into the Tavern. Striding up to the bar, he flagged down Fliss, the barkeep.

"Two ales, whatever you've got."

"Just two? Your Templar lady friend looks the sort to drink men under the tables," Fliss grinned knowingly.

"Maker, does everyone know that we're having dinner tonight? And she's not _my_ lady," Cullen grumbled, "she's just a friend."

Fliss smiled, "Just a friend? Seems like she wants to be more than _just friends_ , and she looks the type who gets what she wants. Just don't tell her you've taken a vow of chastity or you'll never stop her then," she whispered conspiratorially.

 _The Lady of the Blooming Rose laughed at him, "You Templars are all the same, your mouths say no, but your eyes say yes," she breathed sensually, "Tell me, are you one of those Knights who have taken a vow of celibacy?"_

Cullen ignored the rising blush and cleared his throat, "She's not like that, she will respect my choices, she always has."

"So you _have_ taken a vow of chastity," Fliss all but crowed excitedly.

"Maker's breath, I have not… I do not… this conversation is over!" Cullen huffed, grabbing the two mugs a tad roughly before pushing his way out of the tavern and away from the laughing barwoman. Outside the blistering cold only highlighted just how red his ears were as he stomped to Trysraine's cabin. He stood outside for a moment, wondering how he was supposed to knock with two full mugs. Kicking the door seemed awfully rude and familiar considering the outward appearance they were striving to achieve.

"Do you require some assistance, Commander?" the Elven hedge mage enquired softly, startling Cullen from his study of the door.

"Erhm, yes, if you wouldn't mind knocking on the door for me, I would greatly appreciate it."

"Certainly, Commander," the man knocked on the door, and moved away discretely once footsteps from within were heard.

"Rutherford," Trysraine said by way of greeting, "glad you remembered the ale, come in."

The cabin was warm, and a table laden with simple fare had been set out by the fireplace. The dinner conversation was surprisingly boring. To outsiders it appeared that these were two, slightly estranged, old friends. She asked questions about his change of occupation, and he carefully avoided questions about her personal life, _and their child_.

After dinner, they piled the dishes together at one corner of the table, shifting their chairs closer to the fire. Trysraine got up to rummage in a chest at the foot of the bed, her eyes flitted up from their task and sparkled with mischief. Out of the chest came a bottle of wine and two glasses. He raised an eyebrow as she poured two glasses.

"Where did you get this?" he asked taking a sip.

"Funny, the things found in a Chantry," she said casually, settling on the bed.

Cullen nearly spat the wine out, "By the Void, Tris, communion wine!" he choked, " Are you mad?"

"You do know it's only communion wine _after_ the Revered Mother has blessed it before the congregation," Trysraine said with amusement.

"But still," he grumbled at the glass.

She laughed, "At least this time we're adults."

Cullen grinned at the memory. "Amor polishing duty for a month," he reminded over another sip.

"Captain Gimmard's sun blinding armor, and subsequent dressing down from the Knight Lieutenant," she retorted.

"Worth it," Cullen agreed with chuckle.

They finished their glasses in companionable silence. After a while Cullen realized that he had been staring at her for some time. She was relaxed in a most unladylike position, with a leg drawn up against her chest. Dressed in a loose tunic and trousers with her hair unbound, though she had gathered it over one shoulder where it fell in loose waves. He was increasingly aware of their proximity, and that the wine was slowly inhibiting his self control.

He cleared his throat, "I should go, I'll be demonstrating some fighting styles with Rylen in the morning."

Trysraine nodded, "I spoke with Cassandra. Josephine and your Spymaster think it would strengthen our position if we can find this Mother Giselle. She's out in the Fereldan Hinterlands somewhere."

"And what do you think?" he asked softly.

Trysraine signed, running a hand through her hair, "I'm hesitant to follow the advice of people who seem to have gotten the Divine killed."

Cullen frowned, she could be pretty pigheaded sometimes.

As though hearing his thoughts, she gave him a dry look, "I am aware you're one of those people, it's the only reason I haven't run off yet."

"You sure it isn't because of Cassandra?" he teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

She gave a hard laugh, "Seeker Cassandra is formidable," she admitted, "but no, I'm not afraid of her."

Trysraine's eyes went back to the fire, it reflected in her eyes as the shadows it cast fell on her face. There was a darkness in her eyes, one that was new and unknown to him, it made him afraid.

"I missed you," he said in a low voice, leaning forwards in his chair in an attempt to draw her out of that darkness, "I didn't write because I missed you, and thinking about you, hurt."

She blinked, surprised, at him, "I know. I was angry at first, for a long while; but, I remembered how frequently you wrote your sister and it hurt less," she got up from the chair, placed her glass on the table and, stumbling a little, stood in front of him to cup his face between her hands. He stopped breathing, with the light illuminating her from behind, it wasn't hard to see why she might have been sent by Andraste.

"You know we're not going to be able to keep up our 'just friends' image if we stand here for much longer," he rasped, his hands finding her hips, fingers digging into firm flesh.

"I'm fickle," she whispered, "I don't know what I want," her face hovered above his, their breaths mingling in the space between.

"Alright, what are you thinking?" he asked at last.

She pursed her lips for a few moments, before blurting out, "What have you done to your hair?"


	6. Chapter 6

Cullen blinked as a muffled snort drifted into the cabin. They had an eavesdropper. The knowledge enough to effectively douse whatever was left of the atmosphere.

Cullen sighed, "You've really just been working your way to that question, haven't you?" In the dim light, Cullen could make out the predatory gleam in Trysraine's eyes. _Nothing makes her more happy than being right_.

"Yes," she agreed nodding, "yes, I have, absolutely, because really, what in Andraste's name _have_ you done to your hair? It's all straight, and…. wavy. It's not supposed to be either of those things," she complained as she ran her hands through his hair.

"It is now," he exclaimed, batting her hands away from his head.

"It's supposed to be curly! What am I supposed to pull on now when I'm upset with you?" she demanded.

"I'm almost certain you will find something else with which to occupy your time with," Cullen said with finality, the last thing he needed was more people teasing him about his hair.

"I'm almost certain I have," she whispered in his ear, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Maker's sake, woman, you will be the death of me," he hissed.

She smiled, "I'll speak with Cassandra again tomorrow, if she still believes Mother Giselle can help us, then we should leave as soon as possible."

Cullen recognized his cue and stood, "There is another thing you could do in the Hinterlands. We're a little short on horses, if you could speak with one horsemaster Dennet about obtaining several good mounts I would be grateful."

"I'll keep that in mind," she paused, looking him over, "if you don't mind, I would like to join you for your morning run."

"I would be…delighted, if you would join me, I haven't been for a run in a while," _or ever_ Cullen thought, baffled at her request.

"Hmm, slacking off Rutherford?" she clucked, "just as well I'm here now."

"In my defense, I've taken up running _an army_ instead," he retorted good naturedly as they moved towards the door.

She gave a nod of concession, "I'll see you at the gates by dawn watch."

"I'll be there," Cullen agreed, wondering what she was up to.

Dawn watch found the Commander standing by the gates bereft of his typical armament, much to the wonder of the changing guard. When the Herald appeared and the two began stretching by the training dummies, the men began talking amongst themselves. Rylen watched quietly as the two took off at a leisurely pace around the lake, by the Northeast path. He gave a snort, "Well done, lass," he muttered approvingly. Turning around he jumped a little at the presence of the Seeker.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed at the Starkhaven ex-Templar. "Just how much do you know about their relationship?" She demanded.

"Enough tae know ye shouldn't speak so loudly of it being one," Rylen replied evenly, best make it look as though they were discussing the weather. If he and the Seeker were caught in a spat regarding the two Commanders, it would certainly spread more gossip. Thankfully, it's early yet, and the men are busy crowding the warm tavern.

The Seeker frowned, "Do you believe she is aware of Cullen's decision?" she continued in a quieter voice.

"Even if he hasn't told her, I doubt she hasn't noticed. Her sort are trained t'notice twitchy behavior in people they don know, and she knows him better than most."

Cassandra hummed as both their eyes turned back to the path, the trees obscuring their view of the two Commanders.

"She gave no indication of knowing during their dinner, or subsequent conversation," she said thoughtfully.

Rylen gave a snort, "Ye were their eavesdropper then? I'll let the Commander know there's little tae worry about."

"What does that mean?" Cassandra thundered.

"Ye mean ye _are_ a gossip then?" Rylen grinned, slowly backing away from the irate woman.

"Why _are_ we going for a run?" Cullen asked once they were safely hidden by the trees.

"Well, I spoke with your not-a-healer-I'm-an-alchemist-Adan yesterday, and he mentioned his late master had been working on a secret project before his untimely death at the conclave," she huffed, as a cabin came into view, "I promised to look for his notes in exchange for some alchemic favors."

Cullen chuckled at the title she had given the grumpy man, "And so you devised a plan wherein we both supposedly go for a run and while maintaining this cover, in reality discover a stack of papers?" he asked as they approached the cabin.

"No, I devised a plan wherein we both supposedly go for a run and along the way have sex in a relatively secluded cabin. Finding the notes is our cover, or secondary objective if you will, but we're really here for sex," she blinked prettily over her shoulder as she pushed open the door.

Cullen gaped at her as she disappeared through the doorway.

"You coming? Those notes won't find themselves," her cheery voice somewhat muffled.

"Maker's breath," he muttered stepping into the cabin, "you are a brazen woman," he declared turning a corner where he froze. There she stood, naked, her clothes in a neat pile on a desk by some papers.

"You were saying?"

"I was saying," Cullen paused, trying to remember just what he had been saying, "that you, were," he breathed deeply, "a brazen, woman."

She hummed in agreement as she approached him, placing her hands on his shoulders before running them down his chest and under his arms. Pressing her body against his, she leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Only with you."

A shudder rippled through him, it had been so long since they had lain together, "I'm not sure a quick one in the back of a shed will suffice," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

"We've done worse," she reminded.

"Darktown," he recalled with a grimace, "in hindsight a bad, no _terrible_ , idea."

She laughed, "We were just married."

"And lust addled," he agreed picking her up with a grunt.

Trysraine wrapped her legs around him as he walked them towards the tiny cot in the corner of the room. He lost his balance trying to lay her down, resulting in a tangle of limbs as he attempted to push himself off her while she flailed, gasping for air.

"Maferath's balls Cullen!" she coughed irately as he froze. They stared at each other for another moment before laughter overtook them.

"They have been a while," Cassandra said in a low voice to Rylen.

"Aye, perhaps they've run intae a bruin."

Cassandra gave him an incredulous look, "You think a bear would slow them down?"

"Nae, just considering their excuses."

"Most bears are in their winter sleep, not a very good excuse."

"Aye, but have ye heard many good ones in the years?"

Cassandra's lips twitched, "Point taken."

"Seriously, just how long have you been planning this?" Cullen huffed as Trysraine carefully trimmed a few leaves off another elfroot.

"Well, yesterday really, after our sparring match I took a quick look around the area and made notes of where all these plants were."

"Couldn't you have just picked these yesterday then?" he muttered.

"Don't be absurd, any apothecarist with pride for their craft would be able to spot freshly cut leaves. As would alchemists. even if he would rather be tending boiling flasks than patients, Adan is competent enough to know the difference." Trysraine frowned at a disturbed patch of snow.

"I know that, but couldn't it be enough to say that you'd picked these yesterday and needed help to pick them up today?"

"What exactly would my excuse be? 'Hi Rutherford, I need some help bringing back two small sacks of elfroot because we're almost the same size but I'm a more delicate _Templar_?'"

Cullen gave a snort, "Not how I would have put it."

Trysraine got up, dusting the snow off herself, a series of growls and grunts behind her made her still. Cullen dropped the sack of elfroot and slowly reached for his blade, Trysraine was doing the same.

"I know I suggested this for an excuse before our second round, but I did not consider it might become a reality," he said in a low voice.

"Next time think before you speak?" she suggested lightly, "How far?"

"About twelve feet behind you."

"I don't suppose there's a chance it hasn't seen us."

"Well, only if we've spontaneously turned invisible."

Trysraine hummed thoughtfully.

"This is ridiculous," Cassandra said irritably, "They have been gone far longer than conceivable."

"Good thing they're on their way back then," chuckled Rylen.

"By the Maker," she gasped, the two Commanders were slowly limping their way back towards the village. Or rather, Commander Cullen was limping and leaning heavily against Commander Trysraine as they slowly made their way back towards Haven. They were bloodstained, and carrying two cloth sacks.

Rylen and Cassandra rushed to meet them.

"What happened," Cassandra demanded.

"A bear took exception to our gathering elfroot by its den," Cullen mumbled, "it tackled me and I tripped over a root."

" _Damn," Trysraine hissed, pressing part of her shirt against her leg where the bear had slashed her, "didn't see any signs of this brute yesterday."_

" _Must have woken him up." Cullen said quietly, looking down at what remained of the bear. "Here, let me," he said as he moved towards her, missed his footing, tripped over a root, and smashed into her._

" _I can't tell if you're trying to help me, or kill me," she said after a dazed moment._

" _Maybe I just really like your bosom," he replied nuzzling into a clothed breast._

" _Get off!" Trysraine gasped, shoving him off, "That tickles. There are better, easier ways to my bosom than crashing into them."_

"I thought you were going for a run," Cassandra said suspiciously, as she gave Rylen a look.

"We did, Adan needed some notes and more elfroot, since we were in the area we got both," Trysraine explained.

"And you encountered an actual bear?"

"Well, Seeker, I certainly didn't slice up my own leg and get covered in blood and gore for the fun of it," Trysraine said irritably as Rylen slung her arm over his back.

"And beat up t'Commander," Rylen grinned.

"Your faith in me is inspiring," Cullen said sarcastically.

"I trust you will both be armored as well as armed the next time you go 'running,'" Cassandra insisted as she helped Cullen to a bench to tend to his ankle.

"Yes, yes, Cass. No need to fuss," Cullen's gaze was warning and wary.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, she agreed with Rylen. Trysraine, being a Templar herself, would have undoubtedly noticed his abstinence. _Still_ , she thought, _it would not hurt to ask her directly. At the very least, as his wife, she should know._ She sighed inwardly, _it was still his secret to tell_. She resolved to wait, if Trysraine indeed was ignorant of his condition for a fortnight, she would inform Trysraine herself.


	7. Chapter 7

_The Ferelden Hinterlands is incredibly, stupidly terrainned, and boring._

Trysraine struck that particular line out from her letter, _report,_ to her husband, _the Commander_. It was one thing to commiserate with fellow Marchers over the idiosyncrasies of their own sovereign city states, it was another thing entirely to insult Fereldens to their faces. Or in this case, in letters/reports that held no opportunity for immediate retribution, _getting punched in the face_ , which culminated in stewing anger and general surliness for weeks. _And it's not entirely true,_ Trysraine thought to herself, _it is far from boring_.

Thus far, her small group had wiped out seven total groups of marauding Templars and mages. Much to Trysraine's irritation, the Templars had refused to yield, despite both her and Cassandra's declarations of identity. While it was unsurprising that the Mages were drunk on their newfound freedoms, it was disheartening to see men and women of the Order equally mindless and irreverent of their responsibilities. It felt worse to know the Order had little interest rounding up their own miscreants. What remained of the Knights Valiant would be stretched thin, too thin to be properly utilized. _If they were utilized at all_ , she thought cynically. She was inclined to believe they were all withdrawn to Therinfal Redoubt, the Order's ancient stronghold, plotting the course of the Exalted March. She wondered if without the Divine that were still a possibility. She lay back in her bedroll, staring at the darkening crease of the tent top, idly fingering the leather bracers she wore.

" _Chanter, I'm curious," Varric said casually over their meager dinner, "What's with the wristbands you're always wearing."_

" _I have been meaning to ask about the markings on your wrists as well." Cassandra chimed in, Solas tilted his head in curiosity as well._

" _Markings?" Varric leaned in closer for a glance._

" _It's a long story," Trysraine said quietly, there had always been questions about the marks, she was no stranger to fielding questions about them, it was just easier to hide them with the bands. "One I'm not ready to share with anyone."_

" _You mean you don't trust us enough," Varric said with mock woundedness._

 _She laughed, "Yes, Master Tethras, that is precisely it."_

In the dimming candlelight she removed the leather cuffs to look at the blue green images inked into her skin. An old Trevelyan tradition, so old its meanings and origins were unknown to outsiders. The candle whispered out, but she knew the shapes by heart. Even in the darkness her eyes traced the outlines of the sword on her left wrist, and the shield on her right. _Justice and Valor_ , her father's voice echoed in her mind. In the darkness she rubbed them beneath her palms, in the coming days, she would undoubtedly need both.

" _Terrainned" is not a real word_.

She read that single line over again, of course he would get hung up over that. Nevertheless she smiled at his absurdity, just barely stopped from laughing at it, very nearly cried over it. It had been over two months since she saw him, it was as though their week together had only made the ache in her heart worse at her departure.

The Hinterlands, while being stupidly _terrainned_ , was also rife with more substantial problems. _Demon possessed wolves, bears, starvation, exposure, bears, Mages, Templars, bears, mercenaries, feral mabari,_ she wondered if she should ask for advice on the mabari, she had never seen so many. Fereldans held the dogs in high esteem, but the animals she had encountered were less than esteemable. She sighed and went through her report. Demon possessed wolves, _and_ watchtowers exchanged for horses and better yet the horsemaster himself. Starvation, primarily dealt with by three days of catching rams, and another two lugging back the meat for the village. Exposure, also dealt with, although this time with Mage and Templar caches scattered around the Hinterlands. Trysraine frowned at that, Templar caches made sense; but who exactly was teaching Mages survival skills. _Yet another thing to consider when I have time._ The Mages and Templars six weeks in were no more likely to surrender, although there was one group of Templars who recognized her and thankfully had. She had buried far too many in the weeks.

The mercenaries were for the most part dealt with, their stronghold decimated, although she had no doubt they would be back. _Desperate people are easy prey._ Trysraine growled at her report, shoving herself back from the makeshift desk at the local healer's hut.

The Elvish woman looked up, startled from her work.

"The Templars and Mages must both have their own strongholds here," Trysraine muttered to herself, pacing up and down the length of the hut.

The healer slowly got up and took her work with her. Outside, she bumped into the Seeker.

"Is something wrong with Commander Trevelyan?" asked the Seeker.

"No, she's just pacing again. It…it makes me nervous," the healer admitted worriedly.

The Seeker nodded sympathetically, Trysraine could get quite intense. She allowed the healer to pass by before entering the hut. Trysraine was no longer pacing, she was leaning against the wall staring at a particular spot on the desk, with a frown so terrible it would send a rage demon away in fright.

"When was the last time you slept?" Cassandra asked.

Trysraine ignored the Seeker's question, "The Templars and Mages have strongholds in the Hinterlands."

"That makes sense, they cannot simply appear the way they do as easily without one."

Trysraine's frown deepened, "You mean you've already considered it," she growled.

"I have, but, at the time it was not a priority," Cassandra held her ground.

"Not a priority, we've spent a good portion of our time in this miserable place, running into either faction, whom we must kill, wasting valuable time!"

"When was the last time you slept!" Cassandra bellowed over Trysraine.

"Unimportant!" The younger woman snapped back.

"I promised Cullen I would make sure you returned to him in one piece, I cannot do that if you do not sleep," Cassandra said gently.

Trysraine gave a derisive snort, "Then don't make promises you cannot keep."

"You are as pig headed as he is!" the Seeker exploded.

"You are not changing the subject!" Trysraine yelled back.

A shrill whistle interrupted the Seeker. The two women turned towards the doorway, frowning at the intruder.

"Er, hate to interrupt this convivial discussion," Varric said mildly, "but there's someone here to see you Commander."

Trysraine gave a curt nod, turning to Cassandra, "We will finish this later."

"Indeed," Cassandra agreed.

"What do they want or need Varric," Trysraine sighed as she followed the dwarf outside.

"Just said they needed to speak with you," Varric replied easily, gesturing towards a group of mounted Templars.

The Templars were talking among themselves, but hearing the dwarf's voice turned.

"Trig," Trysraine said in surprise before turning a deathly white, "Trigstan, my baby!" She stumbled forward, weak and ashen. "Where's my son?"

"Son?" Cassandra and Varric exclaimed.

"Whoa," said the one called Trig, hurriedly dismounting. "Nothing's happened to Golden Boy," he said reassuringly reaching for Trysraine. She grabbed his arms for support.

"Nothing?" she whispered, "He's alright?"

"Yes."

"Oh, thank the Maker," she gasped, knees giving out abruptly. Trysraine shivered, finally allowing herself to feel the exhaustion that had built up. She scrubbed her hands over her face before a thought came to her. "Where _is_ my son?" she demanded.

"Haven," Trig said grimly.

"That bitch," Trysraine said mildly after a moment of silence. "Trig, I have a job for you," she grabbed his proffered arm.


	8. Chapter 8

"And how is your eye?"

Cullen looked up from his reports to see the Spymaster daintily pick her way through his command post. She paused briefly to look on his sleeping son, bundled on a makeshift cot by the stove.

The eye in question was currently a dull shade of yellow and fading green. An improvement from previous shades to be sure. Camp rumor alleged, correctly, that the Herald of Andraste's brother had taken a swing at the Commander. "It's getting better," he replied, watching the spymaster with vague suspicion.

She laughed at his watchful gaze, "Fatherhood suits you."

Cullen flushed, though more with pride. His son was nearly six months old and exceedingly precocious, at least to his mind.

"I assume you came with more than simple interest in my eye."

"I did indeed. Mother Giselle has arrived."

Cullen sat straighter, "Is she an ally?"

"Yes, she agrees that it would be best if Lady Trevelyan would present herself to the remaining clerics at Val Royeaux," Leliana paused before continuing, "Josephine and I agree that it would be in the Inquisition's best interests that she go as soon as possible."

"Knight Trevelyan," Cullen corrected absently as he mulled over Leliana's words.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She doesn't like being addressed as Lady Trevelyan, bad blood in the family."

"Oh?" Leliana probed, eyes bright and curious.

Cullen shrugged, "That's all I know. I will send word for her immediate return."

Leliana nodded, cast a quick glance to the still sleeping baby and left.

"Ser come quick! The Herald is back!" a messenger flew through his makeshift office. A startled cry from the cot had the man backpedaling so fast Cullen felt he should have fallen on his face. Cullen sighed and took up his son, shushing unavailingly at the babe as he searched around for the nursemaid. As he spotted the woman, a roar of rage filtered through the town. _Trysraine!_ He thought in alarm.

"Seems her brother mentioned the babe bein' here then," Rylen muttered to him.

Cullen swore and handed his son over to the other man. Rylen protested as Cullen took off without a backward glance. Thankfully the nursemaid had heard the commotion and hurried over.

Cullen ran up the steps towards the Chantry, Leliana was on the ground holding her face as she attempted to get up. Trysraine had managed to disarm the Spymaster, judging by the snapped dagger a few feet away, and was bearing down on the woman with fist raised.

"Tris, wait!" Cullen cried, hauling his wife off Leliana.

"Let go of me!" Trysraine shrieked, "She put my son in danger."

"She did nothing of the sort, I asked her to bring him here," Cullen said quietly.

Trysraine gaped, stilling, staring at her husband, "You…" a shrill laugh escaped her, startling him. "He was safe, why would you have him brought here of all places. Where the Void itself, hangs open but for a thread and a prayer."

"Because I got a note from Mia!" Cullen exploded, "She said people were talking about the baby, about you! You can't show up in a small town, stay for a month and then leave without attracting attention. Secluded or not, a baby doesn't go unnoticed for long!"

Trysraine stared at him for a long moment before turning on her heel and walking away, leaving a stunned silence behind her.

Varric found her in the horse paddock, leaning against the railing, staring out at the lake. Her horse bumped her back affectionately and snorted. She smiled at the familiar gesture, stroking his nose and gently pushing him away. With a deep sigh, she went back to gazing out at the frozen lake.

"Y'know, my mother used to say that every time you sigh like that'd cost you a year of your life. So by my count, you've got about five years shorter than y'did before."

Trysraine smiled at the baritone voice, "I think our mothers would have liked each other, Master Tethras."

"Chanter, Chanter," Varric admonished with good humor, "When are you going to just call me Varric."

"Where I'm from, dropping a noble's title is tantamount to admitting an intimate relationship. And despite my current circumstance, I'm rather opposed to giving that impression."

Varric chuckled, shrugged, and leaning against the lower bar of the railing replied, "I won't tell if you won't."

Trysraine laughed as a cold sharp wind blew by, sucking the air out of Varric, who noticed that Trysraine didn't seem as much affected by it.

"What do you want, _Varric_ ," Trysraine sighed once she was sure he had gotten his breath back.

"What, can't a guy get to know a fellow inmate who he's forced to be with?"

A sardonic grin split Trysraine's face, "And what specifically about your fellow inmate do you wish to get to know?"

"See, most people round here think you're just about regretting punching the Spymaster. Not that I think punching the Nightingale is something to regret; you did get the drop on her. I think you're angry and maybe even worried. I'm thinking you're angry with yourself for jumping to conclusions, and worried that your gut didn't stop you from acting on it."

"My gut," Trysraine repeated with amusement. "What makes you think my gut is involved?"

"You seemed pretty certain just who ratted your kid out. Yet here you are, worried that you made the wrong decision, but really angry because you didn't doubt that she didn't do it. Your gut was wrong, and I'm guessing that doesn't really happen to you."

"My gut was not wrong. My _darling_ husband might think the Spymaster retrieved our son out of the goodness of her heart, or because he asked very nicely. I trust my gut, and it's telling me to watch out for the snake. So you're only half right Varric," she said, turning to face him, "I am worried about leaving my son here, but I have no choice; and I am angry, because I didn't believe she would stoop so low as to have rumors spread around. Rumors that _necessitated_ the protection of my son. I _know_ how The Game works."

"Wait, you think Nightingale was the one who started people talking?"

Trysraine stared at the lake in silence for several minutes, picking at the wood railing before speaking quietly, "You understand, there are some decisions which a person must make based solely on assumptions, for which there can be no regrets. I learned a long time ago to trust my instincts and, almost equally long ago, to mistrust Orlesians."

Varric raised a brow as he shifted his weight against the railing, "Now where would you get an idea like that?"

"My stepmother," Trysraine said dryly.

"You've got a stepmother? An actual, evil, Orlesian stepmother?" Varric laughed.

"Yes, I do _actually_ , have an Orlesian stepmother," Trysraine said, throwing a bit of shredded wood away.

Varric silently noted the droppage of the word evil, but the lack of refutation. "So, what will you do?"

"As long as I can put a sliver of a doubt into people's minds," she shrugged, "Should nothing come to pass, I'm just a worried mother. Should anything actually happen to my son, well, then a seed of doubt has already been planted. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an apology to make for my behavior."

"Are you going to mean it?" Varric asked.

"Of course not. That's not how The Game works" Trysraine said, pushing herself off the railing.

Snow crunched underfoot as Trysraine made her way to the Chantry, she went over the situation once more in her mind's eye.

" _Commander, you should at least speak with Leliana before you decry her," Cassandra said anxiously, "Trysraine! I have known Leliana for many years, and I do not believe she would deliberately endanger a child."_

 _Trysraine ignored the Seeker. She all but ran up the steps of Haven in near blind rage. Storming through the Chantry where frightened messengers and sisters parted like a flock of frightened birds. The doors to the War room slammed opened, "You bitch!" Trysraine snarled as her fist made contact with the Spymaster. "Were you used yourself as a child that you think mine may be used as leverage against me?"_

The warmth inside the chantry was cloying with incense and hypocrisy. She growled at one of the approaching women who nervously skittered away instead. The War room was dead ahead, appropriated and converted from the recently deceased Revered Mother's office. Gritting her teeth in irritation, Trysraine opened the door. Inside the small group of man and women paused in their exchanges to look at her. Trysraine exhaled through her nose, once more the mask of propriety.

The baby suckled hard, harder than she recalled anyway. A small proud smile played across her lips, flashing away to a frown as the baby nipped with new teeth. She looked up at the sound of footsteps. Since the rather awkward revelation of their relationship, Cullen had moved his sleeping quarters to her cabin. Though he still kept his previous lodgings as his office. The fallout had not been as bad as they'd feared, the soldiers had grinned at the Commanders poorly kept secret. The Templars who had known them previously were not as surprised as they should have been, while the remainder seethed of shock, envy, and disapproval. Grand Chancellor Roderick had crowed doubts of her legitimacy as a Templar until Trysraine blandly informed him that the Knights Vigilant had known about it for some time. _Not that they'd been particularly happy about it._

"I didn't realise you could still suckle him," Cullen said in surprise.

"I never stopped producing milk," Trysraine replied softly.

"Well, I daresay he'll remember his mother a little easier," he offered with a smile.

"And I'm certain the wet nurse would be more than happy to occupy that position," she retorted archly.

"Maker's tits Trysraine, you know I did not mean it that way," he groaned tiredly, dropping onto a nearby chair.

"No, you didn't," she agreed mildly.

Cullen tried a different approach, "How's your arm?" he asked.

She gave it a brief disgusted look, "Fine."

He chuckled, "I wasn't talking about the Mark."

"Aches a bit, what with the cold. But it's still better than rain."

Silence lapsed between them once more, but he knew the type of silence it was. Leaning forward slightly he asked in his best kindly-officer tone.

"What's bothering you, Sergeant?"

Her lips twitched upward at her old rank.

"Nothing, _Captain_ ," she replied in her best subordinate tone.

Cullen bit back a smile and straightened in his seat, "Then I order you to speak your mind, Sergeant."

She looked at their son, the smile leaving her face, "Word from on high. I'm to cease all field activities and report to Therinfal immediately."

Cullen stiffened, "Will you?" he asked quietly.

"I'm still a Templar Cullen, I have to. And" she swallowed thickly, "and I have to bring all the remaining Templars you have here. They cannot stay."

"What?" Cullen exclaimed, rising from his seat.

"We are still Templars! Bound by oath."

Her words were like a slap in the face.

"Are you saying I'm a traitor?" he asked brittlely.

"No. You resigned, officially. But there are Templars who followed you that did not. Their leave is unsanctioned, and I've seen too many such Templars on the Hinterland plains," her eyes went glassy as she recalled the Templars she had cut down.

"The Templars we have here are not the ones you've faced."

"And how long can you guarantee that Cullen? How long can you hope to control them? What happens when you can no longer gain access to their shackles? They are not all like you. Even Rylen still consumes lyrium. This 'Inquisition' you and the others have concocted to play soldiers and war is barely worth notice to anyone. You will run out of favors to beg."

Cullen ignored her jab, "We've made a difference, your help was invaluable the Hinterlands."

"No, Cullen, we haven't. Refugees pour in faster than they can be fed and clothed, mercenaries prey on the weak and weary. The Mages and Templars wage their battles wherever it suits them, regardless of the innocent and helpless. And this?" she said raising her arm to show the mark, "This cursed thing may have destroyed our only chance for diplomacy, and yet remains our only hope for closing all the tears into the fade. Despite that, you have me running around playing nursemaid to every problem you seem to face."

"You won't be able to help at all if you go back to the Templars. You're the only survivor of the Conclave. They'll assume what we did," Cullen said exasperatedly.

"And execute me, if I'm lucky," Trysraine said quietly. "I'm not keen on dying, but if you cannot offer me better legitimacy, you cannot protect me from the Templars, nor the Chantry. They will come for me. What dignity I have left, I would prefer to keep."

Cullen gave a harsh laugh, "I think you might have lost it all when you punched Leliana."

Trysraine rolled her eyes at the mention of the Spymaster just as their son whimpered at the mounting tension.

"I will turn myself in at Val Royeaux, if the remaining clerics see fit to turn me over to this inquisition, I shall willingly serve then. I shall not be both ace and prisoner to your beck and call," Trysraine said venomously.

Cullen got up, disgusted by her statements, and the truth within them.

"How long more, Rutherford?" she called mockingly after him, "How long more until you use my son against me?"

Cullen turned, angered, "I would never do such a thing."

"You'd be surprised what you find yourself willing to do."

In the firelight her eyes were dark and glinting; in their black depths, Cullen feared what he could not see.

Val Royeaux was a disaster. The remaining clerics had attempted to discredit the fledgling Inquisition and the supposed Herald of Andraste. The Templars in turn abandoned the Chantry, and Seeker Lucius had publicly stripped Trysraine of her rank and cast her out of the order entirely. Cassandra too was officially dismissed from the Seekers, though she bore it comparatively well.

 _Trysraine is not well._ S _he has not eaten nor, I believe, slept since her dismissal. Her behavior grows increasingly erratic, though she attempts to hide this from us. I pray you will find a way to speak with her upon our return._

Cullen read over Cassandra's short missive once more. The past few days he had tried, desperately, to think of ways to console Trysraine when she returned. At the same time he felt utterly relieved his wife had been spared a public execution, or worse, incarceration. Yet he thought of the conversation they had before her departure. Despite her relative freedom, she was indeed still a prisoner of the Inquisition. A spark ignited in him, perhaps she would now consider freely joining the Inquisition.

The return of the Inquisition delegates from Val Royeaux was a sombre affair. Trysraine had sequestered herself away in her cabin with her son and spoke to no one. All messengers were turned away, some near violently, until Rylen was forced to act as intermediary as she remained barely civil with him. Nor were relations between mother and son tranquil, Trysraine grew frustrated with the lack of bonding and the boy fussed all the time. Only the most unsteady semblance of peace would develop when Cullen took his son in arms while they napped.

The unsteady truce stretched some three weeks before it boiled over.

"You are not yourself Trysraine," Cullen said pleadingly. "You've not been yourself since…"

"Since what Rutherford? Since I was cast out of the Order? Since I had your son? Since I married you?" Trysraine snapped, increasing in volume, causing their son to wail in her arms. "Since it would seem the _Maker_ deems it well to strip me of all else that I hold dear, and since you and your son have deemed me unfit for both positions of wife and mother, perhaps you should take him and find someone better! Best I give it all up before I fail at everything entirely!" Trysraine roughly placed their screaming son in his startled arms before storming out the cabin.

"Trysraine!" Cullen cried after her, awkwardly bouncing his squalling son.

Trysraine ignored him, she needed to get away. She ran to the paddock where just hours before she had spoken with Varric. Cullen was coming fast after her, she had a few moments before he regained his head enough to prevent her escape. She was dimly aware she had no plans beyond mounting the horse and just running, anywhere. A few Inquisition soldiers were rushing towards her, as was the Seeker.

"Get away!" she roared. a strange blue flame began to cover her body. She blanched suddenly, the flames dissipating. The act made her pursuers pause, they had never seen such a thing before.

But Cassandra had, "Andraste's Flame," she breathed as Trysraine urged the horse into a gallop.

Past the treeline, Trysraine no longer felt the aura of pursuers, though they would regroup quickly. The pain from her arm had cleared her mind somewhat and she turned her thoughts to it. Her initial flame burst had been small, a side-show attraction almost, nothing near what she could have done with so many Templars around. Still she had never felt such pain, the Mark's connection to the fade must have interacted negatively with Templar abilities. Curious she slowed her mount to a standstill.

She gathered her thoughts and forced a flame to appear on her left hand, the opposite hand from her mark. There was nothing, no pain, not even a tingle. Slowly, she let the flame spread across her shoulders and finally began a slow descent down her left arm. As the flames began to reach the fade cracks in her skin, her arm felt as though it truly were aflame. She bore it, breathing shallow breaths through her nose. The pain grew as the purging flame neared the mark. A sudden moment of insanity gripped her. She dismounted, needing the firm, solid ground beneath her. She opened her mind, calling upon the residual lyrium she felt around her and attempted to purge the Mark off her skin.

Cullen had pursued her closely, ignoring the scrambling efforts of his men, he had saddled another horse as soon as he had relinquished his son to the nursemaid. Up ahead he felt the familiar pull of her purge, the cold grip of fear tightened around his heart. Solas had warned her not to attempt a such a large full bodied purge. A flash of light struck ahead of him, the trees blocked his view, but not his hearing. A scream filled the thin forest, much like those he heard in his nightmares. His horse reared, frightened by the sound, no amount of urging would move it forward. He quickly dismounted and hurried towards the sound.

He was startled to see another rider advancing upon her with his sword drawn. The crest of the Seekers of Truth emblazoned upon the man's chestplate. Cullen drew his own sword, determined to protect his wife.

The other man noticed him and paused, holding up his blade he called out to Cullen, "Peace, Ser. I mean her no harm."

"Why have you drawn your sword?" Cullen roared in disbelief.

The man lifted his helm, "Because I cannot say the same for her."

"Lucan Trevelyan?" Cullen blurted in surprise. It had been nearly twenty years since he'd lain eyes on the man.

"One and the same," Lucan shrugged before gesturing towards the prone form of his gasping sister.

"What happened?" Trysraine rasped, pushing herself to sit up. Her right arm throbbed from where the mark began and spread upward along its fissures in her skin.

"You attempted a barrier flame, Solas thinks it interacted badly with the mark. Lucan had to calm you," Cullen winced, he had not meant to mention the man to her.

"Lucan is here?" she growled, massaging her aching arm. "When did he arrive?"

"He rode up just as you," Cullen paused, captured by the memory of that moment. "You were in agony, couldn't control the fire, Lucan put it out. He's been here ever since."

Trysraine was silent, lips thinned in displeasure at both her failure to control her abilities and escape.

"You can't leave, Trys," Cullen whispered.

Trysraine gave a snort, "I haven't forgotten that I'm your prisoner."

Cullen sighed, he'd known she would be like this. "Don't do this," he pleaded, "Don't push me away. Talk to me, please."

"I can't Cullen," she said tiredly, her eyes hollow. "I don't know how to talk to you anymore. I don't know who you are, and I'm beginning to think I don't know who I am anymore either. I can't talk to you, I don't know how," she whispered, turning to face the wall before she lay back down.

Cullen bowed his head, staring at the dirt floor of their cabin. His eyes burned, but they did not water. His heart ached, but was not broken. He had never felt so far away from her, even after the fall of Kinloch and their reintroduction. A knock on the door roused him.

A slightly nervous messenger greeted him at the door, "Sister Leliana wishes for an update," he reported, very pointedly keeping his gaze on the Commander.

"And she will have it when I am ready to give it," Cullen snarled. The messenger flinched and nodded flusteredly before bolting for the Chantry. The door closed with barely a sound as Cullen fought to control his temper.

"You should go," Trysraine droned, "I would very much prefer she not come for her report in person."

Cullen glared at her back before letting his shoulders slump. She had curled herself up and looked so small in the dimness of the cabin. She was right of course, Leliana would come for her report if he did not go to her. Still he felt she should not be left alone.

"Will you be here when I return?" he asked quietly.

"Where could I even go?" she asked the darkness.

* * *

Sorry it took a while, I realized I was skipping quite a bit of story and I nearly skipped the all important Val Royeaux scene!

Big thanks to Ioialoha on for their detailed constructive criticism, hope I've managed to avoid mary-sueness!


	9. Chapter 9

Cullen waited in vain for a reply, when it was apparent she would not respond he left with a sigh. Since her failed escape attempt, the other advisors had insisted on an armed guard outside their cabin. Cullen reluctantly posted his best men, but secretly hoped she would attempt something, anything. He just wanted to see a spark of the old Trysraine, the one with mischief in her eyes and a secret smile for him. He desperately ached to see her sneaking around the compound, having first snuck out the window of the cabin. But every day was a disappointment, she remained curled in bed, staring at the wall.

Lucan had been avoiding his sister out of common sense, but a full week and a half of Cullen's dejected face and his sister's petty tantrum wore his common sense to oblivion.

Trig raised an eyebrow from his watch outside the cabin. "You can't make her behave by sighing outside her cabin," he said, taking the last bite of hot stew.

Lucan whined and dramatically slumped over his crate, "She's still angry with me."

"I'm still angry with you."

Lucan mulled that over before he glanced sideways at his younger brother. He'd grown up well, a bear of a man, without all the hair. He looked back at the cabin and thought of his sister, she'd grown up well too. _Perhaps a bit too well, she's a mother now…_

"Well, I suppose she can kill me for the both of you," he quipped, standing he brushed the snow off himself and took a confident step towards the cabin. "Erm," he paused, "you will come and save me if she tries to smite me, right?"

Trigstan shrugged, "Anything's possible."

"Is this payback from that time when we were kids?"

Trig simply tucked his hands behind his head and smiled.

Lucan tisked and turned back to the cabin.

The inside of the cabin was dark and there lingered the smell of unwashed flesh.

"Really, sister," he drawled, "I hope Rutherford isn't agreeable to keeping your babe in here," Lucan winced, this was not how he wanted to start mending the rift between them. But Trysraine did not reply. At least he assumed the dark bundle in the corner of the bed was Trysraine. He froze, suddenly aware he was within ten feet of a proficient killer and possible mass murderer. In her condition though, he could probably take her on with little difficulty.

"I didn't come to fight with you," he said quietly, the last thing he wanted was to lose the only other sister he had.

The dark lump on the bed shifted upwards, it was her afterall. A dark vision of Trysraine appeared, unkempt and generally unclean. "What did you come for?" it rasped.

Lucan flinched, eyebrows pulling down in sibling superiority and disdain, "Honestly? To make amends, I…"

"Save it!" the strength of her voice cut through the dark atmosphere. "Words are cheap, if you wish to make amends then there is something you might _do_ for me."

Lucan blinked at the gold-black eyes that peered at him from the darkness, they were clear and purposeful. He nodded.

"There is no change?" Josephine inquired forlornly.

Cullen shook his head as Leliana snorted, "The order has cast her out. Surely we can convince her that we are her best protection."

"How," Cassandra demanded, "After our treatment of her you cannot expect her to willingly throw herself at our mercy."

Leliana shifted her stance, her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, "But we do have something she was willing to protect at all costs."

Cullen saw red, "No!" he snarled, "This is exactly what she said you would do!"

Leliana huffed, "Of course! It was the only way to ensure her cooperation, and it remains so. She was willing to deny his existence to keep him safe."

"Touch one hair on his head," Cullen growled warningly, "and I will walk away from the Inquisition."

Cassandra gasped, "Cullen!"

"You think you are irreplaceable?"

"Leliana!" exclaimed both Cassandra and Josephine.

"Ser!" a messenger stuck his head through the doorway, "A message for the Commander."

Cullen took the slip of folded vellum.

 _Sorry, Rutherford. Level playing field and all… besides, he is a Trevelyan too._

Cullen stared at the swimming words and dashed out the door. Suddenly the chantry was huge, and the doors massive. The village to large, and the journey too far. He burst into the nursemaid's cabin, the woman shrieked in terror.

"My son!" he cried grabbing the woman by her shoulders, "Where is my son?"

"I...I don't know Ser! His uncle, the other Seeker, took him a while ago, said he wanted to bring the babe to his mother and would bring him back in a while."

"How long?" Cullen asked impatiently.

"It's been hours, Ser," the frightened woman whispered.

Cullen let her go, his mind racing, _hours_. He turned and ran to her cabin, praying that the note was a joke.

Trysraine tisked at the looseness of her armor. She had really let herself go while wallowing in self pity. Her old master would be disappointed. _He already is. Did you forget he signed the discharge orders himself_. Trysraine yanked the leather straps a little harder than necessary, anything to shut her denigrating mind up. Heavy footfalls closed in on her door. She frowned, he was here a little earlier than anticipated. The door crashed open revealing her ashen faced husband. She barely glanced at him before turning back to the remaining armor pieces laid out on her bed.

"I don't know where he is," she said to his heaving frame.

Cullen stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Why?" he asked simply.

"I will not be used," Trysraine turned to face Cullen, "Did you really think," she said with startling calm, "I would allow that woman to manipulate me with my own son? No, Rutherford, if you want me in this little Inquisition of yours, I will be held as an equal. Not your pawn." She shouldered past him.

"We will find them."

Those were the first words spoken by the Spymistress when Trysraine entered the makeshift War Room. Trysraine stared at the other woman, her face a mask of blank neutrality, before turning to the Seeker and Diplomat.

"I will work with this Inquisition," she began, holding up a hand to preempt the Diplomat's gushing, "under two conditions," Josephine shut her mouth. "The first, I am no longer your prisoner, nor am I the Herald. I am the equal to all those within this room. Second, when this is all over, I leave without fear of Chantry reprisal or punishment."

"No demand that we stay away from your son?" Leliana sneered.

Trysraine looked at the woman, as though suddenly noticing her presence, "Why no," she crooned with false sweetness, "There will be a day where I fully expect you to retrieve him for me, at my request. Until then I trust your agents shall keep them safe. That is unless you wish for my concentration to be divided, and my loyalty wavering," Trysraine's golden eyes glowed challengingly in the flickering candle light.

Josephine hurriedly cut in before Leliana could say anything, "Your requests are reasonable, and understandable considering your position,"

"You needn't attempt to butter me up, Madam," Trysraine said curtly, "Just get to your point."

Josephine cleared her throat, "Well, what assurance have we that you have the best interests of the Inquisition at heart?"

"I'm only interested in preserving the lives of my husband and child. This aberration upon my skin is both bane and remedy to the tears in the fade. The Order might have abandoned me, but I will not abandon my duty."

The Diplomat looked doubtfully at her associates. The Seeker nodded her agreement without hesitation. The Commander gazed worriedly at Trysraine before he too nodded his consent. All eyes turned to the Spymistress, whose lips thinned in agitation, before she gave a sharp nod.

Trysraine gave the a feral smile, raising her glowing green palm, "I swear, upon the Maker, and Andraste, his holy bride, that I shall forsake all other allegiances; until I am released from this service, to the Inquisition, to which I now pledge."

Cullen swallowed uncomfortably, she was modifying the Templar's confirmation oath. The memory of what followed that oath sent an echo of that first euphoric shiver down his spine.

Trysraine's eyes darted to him, her gaze sharp and comprehending. The candlelight bounced and danced in her gold eyes, like fine whiskey sloshing into a crystal glass.

Cullen heaved what remained of his last meal over the back steps of the chantry. The cold and damp seeped into his bones, he ached all over. A gauntleted arm appeared in his swimming vision, a waterskin. The very sight of it caused his stomach to heave once more, despite its void. He closed his eyes to all visual sensation. Before long, his legs protested their crouched position, and he slumped down on the steps, avoiding his mess. At last, his stomach settled and the blacksmith's hammer was not so obstinately providing metre and percussion to his head. He took gratefully the waterskin from Cassandra.

"Have you told her?" she asked as he swished a rinsing mouthful of water.

He spat at the bushes shaking his head defeatedly.

"Cullen!"

"She knows," he groaned, rubbing a hand over his aching eyes, "she used the confirmation vows to spite me."

Cassandra nodded, "The first draught is the most intense."

Snow fell around them in gentle drifts, the sounds blacksmith's hammer backdropped the recruits clashing swords. Cullen felt exhaustion pull around him, and felt himself too weary to consider the trip back to his tent.

"Come," said Cassandra, startling him awake. "You will rest in my room, it is closer. You are in no condition to argue."

Cullen sighed and took her proffered arm. Leaning against her solid build to steady himself, the two made their way back into the chantry.


End file.
